


Our Soldier

by dimensionhoppingrose



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Other, War Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimensionhoppingrose/pseuds/dimensionhoppingrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Rose off was the hardest thing John and Clara ever had to do. Until she came home.</p><p>Warning: Mentions of amputation, traumatic injuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyeverthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/gifts).



It was hard having to be the strong one.

Clara did her best, and John loved her for it, he really did. But she was obviously clinging to Rose and obviously trying not to cry as they drove their partner to the airport.

And Rose wouldn’t be able to deal with both of them breaking down.

“Do you _have_ to go?” Clara asked with a pout. She and Rose had curled up in the backseat together, both of Clara’s arms wrapped around one of Rose’s. Rose smiled as she kissed the top of Clara’s head.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

They all ignored that she couldn’t legitimately make that promise.

They got to the airport and walked Rose inside with her bag. A few people from her unit were waiting for her by the gate, and Rose shot them a small smile before turning to focus on Clara and John.

“Right. Well.” She pulled Clara in for a quick hug and kiss, then John. “I love you both. I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

“Of course you will,” John agreed, kissing the top of her head before taking her beret and fixing it on her head. “We’ll see you in eighteen months.”

“Eighteen months,” Clara echoed, kissing Rose’s cheek and poking Rose’s beret. “Our little soldier.”

They watched her until she went through security and was out of sight. And finally Clara started crying. John held her tight for a few minutes and held her hand the entire way home.

* * * * * * * *

It was two weeks before they got their first letter from Rose.

By that point they had already written three between the two of them, but they understood that Rose didn’t always have time to write – not to mention they had already been warned that mail was unreliable.

They just wanted to keep Rose updated on every single going on in their lives.

Clara had Skype open every second of the day, hoping beyond hope that Rose would be able to call. She didn’t, but Clara never gave up. John hated having to be the more realistic of the two – he hated having to bring down Clara whenever she insisted, “Just five more minutes” at midnight when she had to work the next day.

But she needed someone to keep her honest.

And John needed someone to cuddle with.

It was a Saturday when Clara went to check the mail, and came back in screeching, “She wrote us, she wrote us!”

They cuddled up on the couch together, perusing Rose’s letter together. It was short, mostly complaining about the heat and saying how much she missed and loved the both of them. But it was so nice to have a little bit of contact with her.

* * * * * * * *

It was a month before Rose called for the first time, and Clara was nearly beside herself. Even John couldn’t keep himself from crying a little.

“ _Honestly are you two_ _ **happy**_ _to see me or should I go?_ ” Rose joked.

“If you hang up I will go there personally and drag you home,” Clara informed her quite seriously, and Rose laughed.

“ _How are things there? Tell me everything. How’s work going? How’re the kids?”_

“Well it’s almost summer so they’ve basically stopped listening to me. Jane Austen just isn’t that interesting when beaches are around the corner.”

“ _When you’re teaching it? I don’t think so._ ”

“Well you’re biased.”

John let Clara have a few minutes, just playing with her hair and smiling as he watched Rose. The image was grainy, of course, but she seemed…tired. Not just like she’d missed a day or two of sleep, but actual, bone-deep exhaustion.

He wondered what she was doing over there.

But of course he couldn’t ask, so when it came his turn to talk he just told her about the funny A&E visit he’d gotten the other day – a bloke who swore he’d “accidentally” sat on a wine bottle.

They only got twenty minutes before Rose had to hang up. But it had been a beautiful twenty minutes and they both felt a little better when it was over.

* * * * * * * *

The sound a tea mug shattering down in the kitchen jerked John out of his sleep.

He’d just gotten off a twenty-four shift and had collapsed into bed as Clara woke up, a little after six a.m. – always on a teacher schedule even when she was out for the summer.

John was thinking he’d imagined the breaking mug, and was considering trying to go back to sleep after a beat of silence when…

“ _JOHN!_ ”

 _That_ got him out of bed and he ran downstairs two at a time, nearly tripping over his feet as he ran into the living room. Clara was watching the news, staring at the TV in horror…

As they reported a bombing in Iraq.

“Clara, what–?”

“They’re reporting British soldier deaths,” Clara said in a shaking voice. “Oh god, oh my god, _Rose_ …”

John gathered Clara in his arms, holding her tight and kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m sure she’s okay. I’m _sure_ she’s okay…”

That hope was dashed about an hour later when a representative from the military showed up.

Rose’s unit had indeed been involved in the bombing. She wasn’t dead – which was more than half her unit could say – but she _had_ been hurt, and she had just come out of surgery. The next twenty-four hours would be touch and go. They would keep them updated.

All the usual doctor stuff that John said to families on a daily basis when he knew the patient wasn’t going to make it.

Rose’s mother came around a little later that day, and god help John he was grateful for it. Clara couldn’t function and he was barely holding it together for her, but bless Jackie Tyler she threw herself into taking care of both of them, making lunch and dinner and making them eat and making tea for all of them because god forbid she sit for five minutes and think about how her daughter might be dead by this time tomorrow.

John had never liked Jackie that much. But he was pretty sure they would have starved to death without her.

* * * * * * * *

Rose came home a month later, only eight months into her tour. She had survived, in the end, but she had a laundry list of injuries.

The most prominent of those being that she had lost her right leg. She was being discharged.

She also had burns on the majority of her right side, a concussion, internal bleeding that was barely under control, and several broken ribs. Getting her home was rough, but before long she was back on British soil and John and Clara were able to visit her in the hospital.

Of course, she was so drugged up they might as well have not been there.

“Rose?” John questioned gently while Clara clung to his hand, shaking fiercely.

“Hmmmm?” Rose’s eyes were bright and unfocused as she turned to look at them, and it reminded John of when she’d had her appendix out and was still coming down from the anesthesia. It had been cute then.

Now it broke their hearts.

“Wuz goin’ on?” Rose asked, blinking as she looked between them. “Why’d'ya look sad guys? I’m home! Be happy!”

Clara gave a small, giggly smile and Rose beamed, clearly proud of herself for getting that reaction. John had to smile a bit as well.

That was Rose. Always trying to help others even when she was drugged out of her mind and half dead.

* * * * * * * *

Clara had to go back to work a month after Rose came home. She was still in the hospital, and John took a leave of absence to spend every day with her. She was still on a fair amount of pain medication, but they had weened her off enough that she could hold a normal conversation.

John came in one morning to find Rose poking the place where her right leg should have been, looking positively lost and hopeless.

“Hey,” John said gently, taking her hand, and she jumped a little, quickly putting on a smile. He knew he had just experienced a rare moment of weakness, where there was no one around Rose thought she had to act for. Where she allowed herself to actually feel.

“Hey!” She pushed herself up for a kiss, and John happily obliged. “What’s up?”

“That’s my line. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course, I'm–”

“Rose.” John cut her off gently. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You’re upset. Talk to me.”

And just like that, her smile faded. “A doctor was in here earlier to talk about a prosthetic. I just…it’s really gone, John.”

“Yeah, it is,” John said as he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “It’s going to be okay, though.”

“I don’t wanna be a burden…”

“Hey, _hey_.” John took her face between his hands, making Rose look at him. “You are _not_ a burden. Clara and I love you, and we are so happy to have you home and alive. We were _terrified_ you were never coming home. But you’re here, and whatever happens next…we’ll face it together. All of us. Do you understand?”

Rose’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded slowly.

* * * * * * * *

Clara and John never actually _discussed_ moving their bedroom down to the first floor and taking over the guest room down there. But considering their partner was currently struggling with a brand new prosthetic, it seemed rather appropriate that they would move at least their bed and Rose’s clothes downstairs so she could have everything she needed in reach. There was even a bathroom off the guest room for her to use, and John and Clara could keep their stuff upstairs and use the bathroom up there.

Rose was so stunned when she came home and they explained this that she broke down crying.

She really did have perfect partners.


End file.
